Seven Years
by Poisoned Honey
Summary: Susan Bones Lavender Brown femme slash... you have been warned. Rating for self-mutilation. Susan saves Lavender from herself, but can she always be there?


Title: Seven Years

Rating: pg-13

Pairing: Susan/Lavender

Warnings: Self mutilation, femme slash.

Word Count: 1,303

Summary: Susan saves Lavender from herself. But will she always be there?

Dedications: Snarkylightning - the best beta the world has ever known.

She stood angrily before a mirror, tossing straight hair behind thin shoulders, defiantly staring into her own eyes.

_Ugly,_ she told herself, without really thinking of the implications, _Ugly, ugly, ugly. _

She looked furiously at the limp brown hair, the watery blue eyes, the skinny, skeletal frame. In that moment she hated herself with a passion she didn't want to comprehend.

Angrily she lashed out, slamming her closed fist against the mirror (once, twice, three times) and it shattered, shards of glass digging into her hands.

And still she pounded and pounded and pounded, reveling in the pain of glass in her hands (sheathing itself deeper and deeper) and in the relief this smashing gave her.

A noise startled her out of her reverie. Parvati is in the stall, beautiful with thick black hair, and bronze skin, staring at her in horror, but she is shimmery, transparent. _Go away,_ Lavender begs silently, _You don't want to see this_.

To her surprise, Parvati leaves, vanishes, and is replaced by her parents, looking at her disappointedly. _I don't need your criticism_, Lavender thinks, and wills them away. And Lavender realizes with a dull sort of horror that she is hallucinating. Her instincts kick in, and she grabs at her hand. _How much blood have I lost_, she wonders, dully.

When she looks back upTrelawney is there, staring aghast at the mirror.

The mirror, Lavender slowly realized, was broken and bloody. _Superstitiously speaking_, Trelawney told her, as Lavender's vision began to blur and darken, _Seven years_.

Then Lavender collapsed.

"Lavender," the voice pushes her out of the dark. It is sung (she is sure), and sounds like it comes from a million miles away. "Lavender." The room gets brighter, brighter, and the voice gets louder, more insistent, less a song, "_Lavender_." It snaps, in a scared sort of way, "Please, please, _please_ wake up."

She tries to keep her eyes shut, but really, the floor is too cold, and the room is too bright, and there is something warm behind her, supporting her neck and shoulders, and she's not entirely sure what it is.

So she opens her eyes (hesitatingly, and into the full force of the florescent light above), and fidgets.

"Where am I?" The person behind her starts at the sound of her voice, then collapses down on her, an uncomfortable, awkward hug from behind.

"Oh, thank god!" They exclaim, grabbing at her, pulling her close. "Thank god you're all right."

"Where am I?" Lavender repeats warily. Her eyes shut again, eyelids heavy, but she opens them again, longing to give into the sleep that threatens her.

"You're in the girl's loo. I came up to check my makeup. And I found you like this—I was so scared. I thought you weren't… I mean, I thought that… well, never mind what I thought. You're all right."

She couldn't seem to think clearly. She felt as though her mind was working slowly, as though the gears had been gummed up with molasses. A thought struck her. "Isn't today" she asks haltingly, considers her words carefully, "Isn't today Valentines Day?"

The girl above her is quiet for a moment, then "Yes it is." Her voice is devoid of pity, and, in some strange way, Lavender is grateful.

"And who," she asks, in the same halting manner, "Are you?"

"Oh! I'm Susan Bones. I—I'm in your year."

"I know you." And she does know. It's hard not to notice Susan, a pretty, round girl, all soft and curvy, with a kind smile, and hair that rivaled the Weasleys'.

"You're bleeding pretty bad. I'm going to get Madame Pomfrey. I'll just…"

"Don't," Lavender says quickly, and is startled by the insistence in her own voice. "Just—stay with me. Please."

Susan Bones does stay. She doesn't move a muscle, lets Lavender rest on her lap. (And it is warm, and comfortable, and Lavender knows that it's better then the starchy sheets of the hospital bed could ever be.)

"Would you mind lifting me up?"

"Oh! Sorry, of course." And Susan grabs her under her armpits, and hauls her up, and they sit for a moment facing each other in silence. Lavender's eyes look at Susan, the pink glow on her cheeks, the vibrant read hair, and without pausing to think, she leans in and kisses Susan.

Later Lavender would blame it on blood loss, and pain, and trauma (when really it is nothing of the sort).

Her hands go up to Susan's hair, and tangle in it, and Susan's hands pull Lavender close, and it isn't halting and shy like any other first kiss Lavender had been involved in (and she had been involved in quite a few). It is insistent, and passionate, and amazing, and powerful.

Lavender's eyes shoot open, and Susan's eyes stare back even as they kiss. Lavender can see the white all around the big blue eyes, can see the pink on her round cheeks, and the way the red of the blood still on her hands mixed with the red of Susan's hair, and she way her hair looks like fire, and blood, and spilled wine (that thick pungent smell clouding the senses).

She thinks about how it's Valentines Day, and how she never pictured it to be spent on the floor of the girl's loo snogging another girl in a pile of glass.

And Lavender pulls away, and Susan pulls away too, and a bloody hand goes up to wipe off a wet, red mouth.

"Here," Susan says, holding out her hand, "Let me..." and Lavender gives Susan both of her hands (suddenly shaking) and Susan mutters a quick spell. The wound heals, fading to small scar, than disappearing altogether, but there is still blood on her hands, and it is still Valentine's Day, and she still kissed a girl.

So she stands up, and walks away, feet crunching on the glass shards, without another look back.

Lavender sleeps, but not really. Her dreams are haunted, by brilliant red hair, by a shy smile.

She remembers, even though she never recalled seeing, that Susan was wearing a white shirt, and that it had stained, red blossoms on a pure white.

_Valentine's Day_, she thought (and that was all).

She'll wake, sometimes, in the night, shuddering, and gasping for air. And she'll feel scared, and alone, and, above all, turned on.

And the sleep that she falls back into will be restless, and sometimes dreamless, and she'll get up the next morning and feel like she never slept at all.

It is many days later, and Lavender is sitting, back against a large tree, watching the sunset. Red, deep red, engulfs the sky, diluting to pink against the clouds. A shadow is cast over her, and she looks up. Red hair. Flushed, pink cheeks. A white uniform shirt. _Susan_.

Lavender's heart cries out, and she tries to hide it, feigning boredom. "Hi Susan," she says, hoping that the other girl will miss the quaver in her voice.

"It's just… about Valentine's Day. I—god. Only I have a boyfriend, Justin, you know. And I…I mean…I want…" She trails off, and Lavender's heart sinks.

"It's fine," she says nonchalantly, "It never happened." And she looks away, back at the setting sun.

Susan lingers for a moment, looking down at her, and Lavender feels the eyes pierce into her. But then Susan leaves. Lavender's heart waivers between fire and ice, finally breaking down the center, half falling to each side. She touches the white skin of her hand, and then drops her head on it, wishing she could be strong enough to hold it up and face the world.


End file.
